Cenerentola
by ladyviolathornhaven
Summary: On the night of October 12, 1943, Italy Veneziano is sent on an assassination mission to be completed at midnight…


**Disclaimer: **I do not own "Axis Powers: Hetalia". If I did, I wouldn't be writing this story. It would have become canon. But since I'm writing this and posting it here, then I do not. I make no money from writing this story.

A/N: Long time is LONG. I haven't written a fanfiction worth posting in almost a year. So, in my return, here's a story from my new fandom.

This story crosses between historical and AU. Historical facts are listed at my livejournal, but translations are here, and fictional events (what I wanted to use in my story for my own purposes) are not listed.

There are brief uses of human names, but typically the country names are used. Also, this is a pretty serious story, so the characters might seem OOC (Example: Italy is not all "Ve~, ne, ne, Doitsu!! PASTA~~~~!"). Please understand that although Hetalia is a very comedic story, World War Two is not.

* * *

"_Your government wants you to kill Germany?!" the blond, bespectacled man said._

_The auburn-haired man was seated at a table. He could feel all eyes on him. His expression clearly read that he was at a lost. Italy gave a slight nod, refusing to raise his eyes to the Allied Forces._

"_It won't immediately let you into the Allies," the green-eyed Englishman said. "My boss adamantly doesn't want you as one of us."_

"C'est vrai_," the Frenchman said. "You fought on their side, and you joined to try to get some of my land by doing it." The typically amorous man had a dark expression on his face._

_However, no one's expression was darker than the Russian's. A smile crossed his face, "So, Italy, you wish to kill Germany, da?"_

_Italy stiffened at the thought. Germany was his friend. Could he kill him?_

"_It's…It's what my boss wants, so…the people in my part of Italy are being captured by his army, and my old boss is in control of my half…I though Romano was going to be sent on this mission, but the southern government chose me instead…" The auburn-haired man remembered the day he watched the signing the armistice. Within a few days, his older brother took him from his house in Venice to live with him, shouting expletives about that "potato bastard" the entirety of the trip._

"_Then, let me give this to you," Russia said as he slid something across the table._

_Italy looked up; a clean knife. However, those that recognized it remembered that it hasn't always been that clean._

"_It's my sister's. Even if Belarus…_нет_, Natalia…even if Natalia does frighten me, she is still my precious younger sister. I refuse to see her killed by those Nazis, like her people have been. Therefore, I ask that you kill Germany with her knife."_

"_Hey, Russia, that's a little—" America tried to interject. However, England stopped him with a look that read, '_You'd do the same for your family, wouldn't you?_'_

_Alfred knew that he would do the same for Matthew, his brother. The typically forgotten man looked over to his brother, their twin-like eyes meeting for a second. And he'd even do the same thing for Arthur if the man that raised him needed help._

_The room was eerily silent. All eyes remained on the Italian._

_Slowly, hesitantly, the brown-eyed man reached for the handle. His fingers wrapped around the brown handle, and he pulled it closer to him._

"…_I'll do it."_

* * *

It was a strange, joyous night in Germany. The current leader of the country had called the various leaders of the Axis Powers and their guests, as well as the representatives of the nations, to a ball hosted by the nation.

Using what German he knew, and with his current looks, Italy had no problem getting in.

With help from Big Brother France, Italy was now in an evening gown. The bodice and skirt were both of a white, silky material. Red of the same material wrapped loosely around his upper arms and tightly above his (fake) chest. A similar wrap was found at his hips, emphasizing the flare of the skirt. At least three petticoats assisted in the process. Around the country's neck was a white collar with a red stone (Italy assumed the stone was a ruby). Elbow-length white gloves covered the young man's arms. To complete the outfit, Italy was wearing simple, black heels.

But that wasn't all France had done. To make sure that Italy looked like a woman, he gave the younger nation red lipstick, mascara, and a wavy, longhaired wig. It matched his natural color perfectly, permitting his natural bangs to show a little. However, that special curl on the right side of his head was being fickle. Fortunately, the older nation was able to hide it enough that it blended in with the hair enough to seem natural. However, with one tug, Italy's cover would be blown.

Presently, the young male was standing against a wall, trying not to stand out. His brown eyes surveyed the room. He recognized a lot of people who were in attendance, most of whom where his former allies during this second Great War: Prussia, Hungary, Finland…although it seemed that Japan was nowhere in sight. The Italian man sighed in relief: if Germany didn't recognize him, Japan would have.

Slowly, Italy peeled away in an attempt of confidence. He wasn't _Italy_; he was a guest at the party being held by the Fuhrer (even if he did technically sneak in). However, he failed to notice the young woman walking perpendicular to him.

"I'm sorry!" Italy said in his attempt to sound female. His brown eyes came to look at a pair of blue eyes belonging to a young woman in a blue dress with a white apron and a white bow headband atop her silvery-blonde hair.

Belarus.

"Watch where you're going next time, дурная сука," the young woman cursed at the disguised male. She proceeded to walk by him when Italy suddenly grabbed her skirt. She looked back, clear disdain in her eyes.

"It's Italy, Belarus," he said softly. Her eyes didn't change. "My new boss sent me here to kill Germany."

"What does that matter to me?" she asked, turning to face the auburn-haired male.

"I talked to the Allies…your brother…" Belarus's eyes lit up about hearing her brother mentioned, "…he gave me your knife to kill him. And this," Italy said as he handed the blonde a folded piece of paper.

"_Italy, if you come across Belarus, please give her this letter. With this, I feel that she will help you on your mission, da," the tall man said to the shorter Italy._

Belarus skimmed over its contents once, twice…and read it thoroughly a third time. A slight blush crossed her face, "…Brother…"

Italy observed the female's expression. He couldn't read Russian (or whatever language it was in), but the contents appeared to have made her very happy.

Belarus folded the letter carefully, and placed it between the top of her apron and her dress. "Because my brother asks me to do it, I'll give you some advice."

"Advice?"

The blonde leaned in closer, "Yes," her voice was barely a whisper, "be sure to aim for vital areas. By doing so, you'll know that your victim will perish. I trust you know where those are, having been on the front lines and such. And, when you are done, be sure to clean the blade. We don't want to give away our deed, do we? By leaving blood everywhere?"

Italy nodded quickly, and began hoping that no one took notice of the two talking. Fortunately, Belarus pulled back and turned away, "_Ўдачы_, Italy."

"_Grazie_, Belarus," the auburn-haired male replied.

It was at this point that Italy remembered that he hadn't had anything to eat yet. Walking carefully (and as fluidly as he could in heels), the male walked to where an array of food was. Of course, his inner gourmet wanted only one type of food: Pasta. There was a wide variety there, and Italy was practically drooling at the sight.

'_Wait! If I eat pasta, then I'll give myself away, won't I? Maybe I should try the other food here…but it doesn't look that good. _'

"Excuse me, miss, but are you not certain what tastes good?" a voice asked behind the disguised male. Italy perked at the voice and turned to see a blond male in full military attire.

'_Germany!_' "Um…" Italy tried to speak, "…_ja_…"

The blond man quickly grabbed a plate and placed a variety of food. "Here," the German said, holding the plate to Italy.

"What…?"

"Is there something wrong with it?"

"No, but…why is there pasta on it?" Italy asked. Not that he had anything against pasta, but it surprised him that Germany would give him pasta.

"A friend of mine…it's his favorite food."

Italy instantly knew who this friend was. A slight smile crossed his face. Even though they were no longer allies in this war, they were still considered friends. The auburn-haired man picked up a fork and began to eat slowly. It was pretty good; not entirely up to his gourmet standards, but it would have to do.

* * *

Germany didn't know why the young woman standing before him fascinated him so much.

She was a rather pretty woman, mind you, but he felt like they had met before…

It was somewhere in his distant memory that he remembered seeing a similar woman. Wavy auburn hair, brown eyes…and it seemed that they were married. In the life of a nation, one lives for a long time. However, to marry a human…

The woman in his dream must have been another nation. However, the woman standing before him now was either a nation aligned with the Axis or a relation of one of the nation leaders.

Nevertheless, she was the woman in question.

"I haven't introduced myself. I'm—"

"Germany. You are the man who represents the nation of Germany," the woman stated.

"And you are?"

"Felice," she replied, placing the used plate and fork on a platter being carried by a male servant. "I'm from North Italy."

Germany gave a nod. North Italy was under Nazi rule again. She must know the leader somehow.

Speaking of North Italy, he hadn't seen the smaller male in a while…but it was nothing to worry about. He was probably eating pasta, being himself somewhere.

"Miss Felice, if it doesn't bother you," the blond man asked, giving a slight bow, "would you be willing to dance with me?"

A blush crossed the auburn-haired woman's face, but she reached out a gloved hand nevertheless.

The two proceeded to the dance floor.

* * *

"That girl…she seems familiar…"

The albino man looked over to his longtime friend. Hungary's green eyes were watching his brother and the mysterious woman he chose to dance with.

"No clue what you're talking about. Now, do you want to dance or not, Hungary?"

Prussia really wanted to get Hungary on the dance floor. She looked amazing. (He was sorely tempted to use "awesome", but that word could only be used to describe one: himself.) The dress was red with a black belt around her waist. The skirt fluffed from her hips and flowed down to the ground. The sleeves were puffy at her shoulders and ended just below them. Black gloves were on her hands, tapering at her wrists.

Presently, her arms were across her chest. "Please, like I would want to. If Mr. Austria wasn't busy tonight, I'd be dancing with him." The nation in question was preparing for an upcoming concert and therefore turned down his invitation to the ball. When she found out, the brunette wasn't the happiest. "I have to spend the night watching my boss and Germany's boss…and with you."

"You wouldn't have to pay as much attention if you take my offer to dance. It's not everyday I get to show my awesome dancing ability," the red-eyed man said. Hungary rolled her eyes. Always "awesome"…

"I'm being serious when I say she looks familiar. There's just something about her that makes me think we've met her before."

"If you dance with me, we'll get closer to West and you can talk to her."

The brunette remained silent for a few seconds. She was either ignoring her ally or deciding whether or not to dance with him. Finally, she held her arm out to him. "Don't think I'm doing this for any other reason than that."

"I wouldn't dare. I know the consequences."

And being whacked with a frying pan was not on Prussia's agenda.

* * *

Italy had hoped by saying that he was from North Italy didn't translate to "I'm Italy Veneziano". Based on how things were going, it didn't seem that the taller male noticed.

'_Germany…he's really good at dancing. Why…do I feel so at ease…and why am I remembering…him?_'

* * *

"_Why do I have to be the girl, Mr. Austria?"_

_The musician looked at the little nation with an exasperated look on his face. "Is it not obvious, Italy? Now, take Holy Roman Empire's hand…and now, take her waist…"_

"_Mr. Austria, I don't think they understand," Hungary said. She had been standing at the door, watching, before coming in._

"_Hungary, could you come here fore a second?" Austria said to her. The brunette walked over, and, when finished, they looked prepared to dance. "Now, if you two could mimic our actions, we can move on with the actual dancing."_

_The boy dressed in black placed a hand on Italy's waist and locked hands with Italy's free one. The auburn-haired child placed his free hand and placed it on the blue-eyed boy's shoulder._

"_Now we'll begin." The violet-eyed musician was now seated at his piano, and began to play a song in three-quarters time._

_The two children began stumbling awkwardly on the floor. Neither of them had danced (in Italy's case, for a while), and the two of them together…_

"Eins, zwei, drei_…emphasis on one, both of you…" Austria said, still trying to teach while playing._

_The green-eyed female was standing near-by, a contented smile on her face._

"_Holy Roman Empire, you're getting better!" Italy said, trying to be encouraging. The small blond looked at the little nation he was dancing with, and, of course, a blush crossed his face, but he also gave a smile._

_The two children, as they continued dancing, had smiles on their faces._

* * *

And the same was true now. Italy had a smile on his face. He enjoyed dancing, but for some reason, he hadn't had as much fun as that time. However, this time seemed to be just as fun.

Italy didn't want the song to end. He didn't want the time to run out.

'_Time?_'

Italy's head turned to the nearest clock, the one above the staircase. The time was now eleven-thirty. The job…had to be completed by midnight…

"Is there something wrong?" Germany asked.

Brown eyes met blue. Lies would have to work for now.

"No, nothing…"

* * *

Something was wrong. No one stares at a clock and has their expression change so quickly and dramatically.

Germany was uncertain as to what to do. He cleared his throat; "If you would be willing to come upstairs with me…you can get some fresh air without it being so busy."

The auburn-haired Italian looked at him with large brown eyes, and nodded. The two left the various dancing couples to head towards the stairs.

* * *

"Well, that didn't seem to work."

Green eyes glared at red. "If you had gotten closer to your brother, it might have. This is why I didn't want to dance with you in the first place."

"Excuse me," a male came to the two nations, "but you two have been asked to be on guard duty."

"What?" Hungary shouted.

"Who decided this?" Prussia asked.

"The Fuhrer has decided that the nations in attendance and are not preoccupied are to become guards until the guests leave."

"Son of a..."

"We'll do it," Hungary said before her ally said something he shouldn't have.

* * *

The cool night air felt good on Italy's face. As Germany had promised, it wasn't busy like the downstairs balconies were, full of various guests. The auburn-haired male took a look down at the garden below. There were a variety of plants and short hedges set up like a labyrinth, low enough that one could see the entirety of the garden.

Brown eyes then looked up to the moon. "_La luna solitaria_…" Italy whispered. '_If you were in my place, would you be able to kill him? There's no way…that I could kill him…_'

Warm teardrops began to flow from his eyes.

* * *

Germany took notice of the young woman crying on his balcony. He wasn't entirely certain as to what to do. However, he had read about certain ways to calm a woman…perhaps it would work now.

* * *

Italy was surprised when a pair of arms wrapped around his smaller figure. He immediately knew it to be Germany based on the solitary fact that they were the only two on these upper levels (that he knew of). The brown-eyed male turned slowly to took at the blond, tears still flowing.

No words were passed between the two as they looked at each other, the moon as their solitary light. Italy knew that he was still crying, and did nothing to try and stop them.

It was Germany's next motion that took him aback:

The blond man leaned forward, lips touching the smaller man's cheek, kissing away the teardrop that lingered there. He pulled back, and a slight blush appeared on his face. The blond looked away, clearly embarrassed.

Italy didn't know what was happening anymore. His heart had started to race faster from that mild motion, but he knew that that wasn't all he wanted. His gloved hands reached for his friend's face, cupping it.

The two gazed at each other. The taller's hands wrapped around the smaller's waist, but it was the smaller that initiated it to go further.

Italy pulled the blond's face closer to his. Breaths began to mingle.

_~"W-what do your people give to their loved one?"_

_Italy pondered the answer for a second, "A…a kiss, I guess?"~_

Two sets of lips came together almost perfectly. It was nothing more than the interlocking that seemed perfect to the smaller male. He secretly hoped that this wouldn't be taken any further…and to have his secret revealed.

However, as they parted, the blond took the auburn's hand and began to lead him to the bed. The two sat on it, nothing seeming to be pressing him any further.

"Germa—"

"Ludwig," the blond said. "It's my real name."

"Ludwig…are you okay?"

"To be honest, I don't know. Felice…I think we've met before. I don't know where, but I'm very certain."

Brown eyes became wide, "How so?"

Blue met brown, "It's somewhere in my memory…or maybe it was a dream. But, nevertheless, you were there." His hand reached over to the smaller's face, brushing hair out of the way.

Italy leaned into the touch. His hands reached for the one of his cheek. Again, the tears started to swell. "Ludwig…"

Once again, the blond leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the auburn-haired male, and he was once again kissing the teardrops away.

* * *

Something felt natural about having Felice in his arms. Perhaps that distant memory was right; they were meant to be.

Germany was never one to believe in preordained destiny; in the life of a warring nation, you live each day up to the fates whether you'll live or die. However, for this one woman…

He leaned forward slowly, pushing her onto the bed, the smell of her lily perfume slightly mixed with something else intoxicating him.

"Ludwig?"

"Forgive my haste…but I'm returning to the front lines tomorrow. I don't know if I'll ever see you again, but I want you to remember me."

"Lud—" attempted the young woman before a pair of lips crashed into her own. This one was more forceful, powerful, _lustful_.

The blond deepened the kiss, his hands sliding up and down her sides slowly.

Higher in the building, resonating throughout, a bell begins to ring its midnight chimes. The blond ignores them.

However, the one thing he can't ignore is the stabbing pain that just went into his abdomen. He broke away and looked down:

Felice was holding a now bloodied knife that was stuck into his abdominals. The warm red liquid escaped from the wound, covering his coat and the young woman's dress and gloves.

Germany sat up, only to return to his side. The knife removed itself, but the brown-eyed woman grabbed it. Knife in hand, she covered her face, watching what she had done in shock, a bit of blood now staining her cheek and napping her hair. Blood had begun to stain the sheets on the bed

As he began to black out from blood loss, he heard words escape her lips for the final time:

"_Mi perdoni, il mio amore_..."

Ludwig knew what that second scent on her was:

_Gunpowder_.

* * *

Italy ran as fast as he could without tripping or losing his wig. The knife was back in its hiding place (the garter on his right leg), but still left a blood trail that matched his dress and gloves.

The exit he had planned to take seemed further away with every step. However, he kept going, no matter how exhausted he was.

"_Halt __Mädchen_!" a voice called out. Italy made the fatal mistake of looking behind him: Prussia and Hungary. Within seconds, the two other nations had stopped the younger, Prussia having his arms around Italy. The captured man continued to say, "I'm sorry" over and over in his native tongue.

"…Italy?! What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like that? Where did the blood come from?" Hungary asked aloud, holding back on asking, '_And where is Germany?_'

"_Mi dispiace_! _Mi dispiace_!" the younger nation said. He had broken into hysterics.

Clearly, they weren't going to get anything out of him easily.

"Dammit, Italy!" Prussia shouted. "Tell us what happened!"

The auburn-haired male stopped his panic for a moment, and started to cry, "I did it for my people and country! I didn't do it for myself!"

"Do what? Tell us!" the red-eyed man said, trying to get Italy to answer him. However, the nation began to speak gibberish in Italian. The older two looked at each other for a second.

"Hungary, go see if West is okay. I'll keep an eye on him."

The green-eyed woman nodded, and ran towards the room where Germany would have spent the night.

"Italy, I'm going to let you go, but don't think of running anywhere," Prussia said in a calmer, yet still firm tone. The younger nation was still sobbing. As the empire let the younger nation go, he collapsed into a heap on the ground.

"Feliciano…what the hell did you do?"

The brown-eyed male said nothing, but he reached for the knife. He handed it towards the red-eyed empire…

…when a silvery-blonde blur passed between them.

"Belarus!" Italy shouted, his hand now empty.

Indeed, the young woman was now standing a ways from the two men, her knife now back in her hands.

"I thought I told you, Italy," she said coolly, "that if you don't clean the blood immediately, the blade will stain." Using her apron, she wiped the blade clean in a fluid motion. She then brought it up towards her face for expression. She cursed in her language and said, "I'll let it go this time. Now, get out of here."

"Belarus, there's no way you can win against someone as awesome as me," Prussia said.

"I believe that I can, Prussia," Belarus replied, a dangerous smile on her face.

"Bela—" Italy tried to speak.

"Italy, get out of here! Your mission is complete!"

Slowly, Italy got up, and began to jog towards they door. As he passed the young woman, she said softly:

"_Tell Ivan I love him._"

Italy paused again. He looked over to her, "I will, Natalia," and began on his way.

"Hey, Italy! Stop! Get back here, damm—" Prussia shouted, running towards the younger nation. However, the maid-dressed woman pointed her knife to him.

"If you doubt my ability to fight, then let's fight now, Gilbert Beilschmidt," Belarus retorted.

Gilbert gave a smirk, and then reached for his saber, "I never thought I'd have to fight you again, Natalia Arlovskaya."

However, before either of them could charge, thundering footsteps came. The brunette returned, panting hard. "Gilbert!! It's Ludwig!! He's still bleeding! I have a nurse tending to him now, but—"

"Elizabeta, have him taken to the hospital! I can't do anything about it now!"

"But—"

"Elizabeta!" he roared, taking his eyes off his opponent and turning to his friend. However, her scream quickly brought his mind back to the fight…

"You made a mistake, Prussia," the blue-eyed woman was behind him, her knife at his neck, "and it will cost you…"

"_Scheiße_!" Prussia cursed.

"_Для Беларускай Савецкай Сацыялістычнай Рэспублік!_" she shouted, preparing to slice.

* * *

The people of South Italy were preparing for war in the short amount of time. However, not among them was the personification of North Italy.

The auburn-haired man was sitting in his borrowed room, arms around his legs, back in his military uniform. His eyes were dark, staring at the dress he wore mere hours ago. He hadn't slept. He returned to the house early in the morning, but still refused to sleep. He didn't want to dream about what he did and how he'd regret it for life.

The young man stood up slowly, and began to walk towards the closet. He passed a desk on his way, and grabbed the pair of scissors sitting atop it.

Italy Veneziano was standing before the dress, a pair of scissors in hand. He looked it over. He didn't bother washing it; the bloodstains were going to stain the dress permanently at this rate.

But that didn't matter.

The brown-eyed man opened the scissors and began to slice at the dress. White and red material began to fly away with every slash. It wasn't long before the dress was in tatters. When nothing more could be cut, the man fell to the ground, dropping the scissors as he did so. Tears began to fall from his eyes.

* * *

When Italy Romano returned later that day before heading out, he came into where he let his brother stay.

Finally, he had gone to sleep. Lovino took a second to take a blanket off the bed and covered his younger brother with is.

"_Dormire bene, fratello_."

* * *

"I'm still sorry, Gilbert…I shouldn't have left you…but your brother needed help…and then Natalia got involved…"

"Elizabeta, stop apologizing," the red-eyed man said. "You saved my ass that night. I'm still here, and I'm not going anywhere soon."

A slight blush crossed Elizabeta's face. Clearing her throat, "Um, Gilbert…I've been thinking—"

"About how awesome I am? Of course you were! Everyone do—"

A single whack of a frying pan might not have been enough, but it sufficed. '_No. I'm staying true to Roderich after all._'

"Anyways, have you told Ludwig anything?" the brunette asked after the albino came to.

"Of course not. I don't plan to. I personally don't have anything against Feliciano, even if we are at war with his brother right now." Prussia looked over to the pan-wielding nation, "And you?"

"If his own brother isn't going to tell him, why would I? Italy probably did what he had to do because he boss told him to."

"Are you implying that we're pawns?"

A smile crossed Hungary's face, "I said nothing of the sort. It's true that we listen to our bosses and generally obey them, but we have minds of our own, don't we? We've lived much longer than our bosses. Our memories go beyond what they can imagine."

"Speaking of memories," the red-eyed man said. This was important, "I think West almost regained some of his memories last night."

Green eyes became wide, "Memories? From back when he was…?"

"Yeah."

"How would Italy—Oh!" Hungary covered her mouth with her hand.

"What?"

"Back then…we all thought that Italy was a girl…"

"And you thought that you were a boy when you were younger. And even then, you were never as awesome as I was…and never will be."

"Enough with the awesome!" Hungary shouted, raising her frying pan at the other man.

* * *

The long war continued in Europe until April and May of 1945. On the seventh, Germany surrendered to the Allies.

However, in the background, another war was brewing…a cold war.

New alliances formed, and countries were again against each other, the most notable being the United States against the USSR.

However, amidst this, one alliance was formed that the auburn-haired nation didn't think would happen:

During the Cold War, an alliance between West Germany and Italy was formed. As time went on, the two nations had a generally peaceful relationship.

However, one night would remain in their minds. While one would never know who that mysterious female assailant was, one would always carry the guilt of having hurt someone that he cares about.

* * *

A/N: YES, the part before they kissed was taken from the Chibitalia arc…I admit.

Lilies are the national flower of Italy, along with poppies. I thought a lily perfume would be more appropriate.

I'm personally not proud of the end; I'll rewrite it when I cross-post it later.

Basis of the Title

Cenerentola – "Cinderella" in Italian. The title and the story are based off the Vocaloid song "Cendrillon", which is the French translation for "Cinderella". The story is based off of the two videos for the Vocaloid song. In one version, the girl kills the prince. In the other, the prince is scratched but doesn't die, and the two end up together. To find the links, please head to my livejournal.

Translations (Mostly Courtesy of Google Translator. If incorrect, please fix me and I will edit it.)

C'est vrai – "It's true" in French.

Нет – "No" in Russian.

дурная сука – "Stupid bitch" in Belarusian. (Hey, I wouldn't be happy if Nazis captured me and forced to serve as their maid at their party.)

Ўдачы – "Good luck" in Belarusian.

Grazie – "Thank you" in Italian.

Felice – A female Italian name meaning "fortunate, happy". It's also very close to Italy Veneziano's true name, Feliciano.

Eins, zwei, drei – "One, two, three" in German.

La luna solitaria – "The lonely moon" in Italian.

Mi perdoni, il mio amore. – "I'm sorry, my love" in Italian.

Halt Mädchen – "Stop, girl!" in German, but it could obviously mean "Halt, girl!".

Mi dispiace – "I'm sorry" in Italian.

Scheiße! – "Shit!" in German.

Для Беларускай Савецкай Сацыялістычнай Рэспублік! – "For the Byelorussian Soviet Socialist Republic!" in Belarusian.

Dormire bene, fratello – "Sleep well, brother" in Italian.

LVT out.


End file.
